Round 35 Transcript

As Merrin draws closer to the central rune, the air grows thick with an ancient, malevolent energy that chills Seraphine to the bone. The runes on the floor pulse with a dark power, and the beam creaks ominously beneath Varrika's weight. Halie's holy symbol glows faintly in the dim light filtering down from the ceiling, casting an eerie glow on Merrin's determined face. Merrin's fingers dance across the rune, and the ground shudders beneath their feet. A low, ominous rumble builds in intensity, making it hard for Varrika to hold onto the rope without feeling it vibrate through her entire body. Suddenly, a burst of noxious gas erupts from the walls, sending a cloud of poisonous fumes towards the party. The air is now thick with the acrid scent of decay and corruption, making it hard to breathe. Merrin's eyes widen in alarm as they stumble back, gasping for air. Halie's voice cuts through the chaos, "Get down, Merrin! We need to get out of here, now!"

I circle the pit's edge warily, my wings half-spread for balance. The air here feels wrong—thick with residual magic and the stink of centuries-old death. That rune pulsing down below? It screams danger even through Merrin's clumsy prodding. And Varikka up there on that rope, straining under both their weights? She'll snap before that beam does. "This isn't a puzzle to solve with your fingers and toes," I call down sharply. "That rune is active magic—probably defensive, probably lethal if you piss it off the wrong way." The ground shudders again, more insistently this time, as Merrin fiddles with something on the floor below. "Stop. Now. Before whatever's holding that sword decides you're a threat too." I draw my crossbow, loading a bolt with quick, practiced motions while keeping my eyes on the pit. The sound of scuttling legs from within that newly opened passageway doesn't help my nerves either—something's moving in there. Halie inches closer to the edge across from me, her holy symbol raised in trembling hands. "I agree," she says, voice wavering despite her best efforts. "This feels... unholy." Coward or not, at least we're thinking alike for once. The air grows colder as we speak—degrees, not metaphorically—and the runes on the floor seem to pulse faster now. Varikka calls out from above: "Merrin! Get back up here before this rope gives!" She's barely holding them both already; I can see the strain in her muscles even at this distance. Merrin doesn't answer immediately—too busy down there fiddling with death itself apparently. I aim my crossbow down into the darkness, finger resting just above the trigger guard. "Merrin. Move your ass or we're leaving you there." Not that I'd actually leave her—I value our healer too much for that—but a little fear motivation never hurts. The central rune pulses brighter at my words, almost as if it heard me and didn't like the threat. Something shifts in the darkness below—shadows moving where there shouldn't be shadows, shapes forming and dissolving at the edge of visibility. Whatever's down there is reacting to our presence now, awakening from centuries of slumber. Great. Just fucking great.

I inch closer to the pit's edge, Mace ready but held back. The air grows colder by degrees, echoing like a prayer backwards. The runes on the floor pulse with an ancient malevolence that makes my skin crawl—Jeane sees this place as a nexus point, a doorway to somewhere worse than death. Merrin! Be careful down there—I don't like what those symbols are doing. Varrika braces herself above, muscles straining, and I can see the tension in her jaw even from here. We're all balanced on a razor's edge, and one wrong move could send us all tumbling into whatever hell awaits below. I raise my holy symbol, its silver surface catching what little light filters down from above. The metal feels warm against my palm—at least something here resists the creeping cold. But even my faith feels thin in this place, stretched taut like a wire about to snap. Jeane circles the pit's edge, scanning for traps or symbols of her own. She sees danger everywhere, and rightfully so—I've known her long enough to trust that instinct. But Merrin has a way of charging into trouble with tactical precision, and I find myself holding my breath as she fiddles with whatever mechanism holds the sword. What lies ahead in the chamber? The air grows colder still, and I swear I can hear whispers carried on the drafts—voices old as dust, hungry and impatient. We should leave this place while we still can. But Merrin is down there, and Seraphine needs that sword for her quest... or so she claims. I call out to Merrin, my voice barely above a whisper: Be quick. Whatever bound that sword down there wasn't playing games—this feels like sacrilege on a cosmic scale. We're treading where mortals shouldn't, and I fear the price for disturbing this seal is far greater than gold or glory. My fingers tighten around the Mace handle. I'm no fighter, but if something emerges from that darkness... well, faith can be a weapon too. But let's hope it doesn't come to that. The last thing we need is more corpses feeding whatever sleeps below. I move back slightly, keeping the area illuminated with my torch. Every shadow seems to writhe with unseen movement, and I fight the urge to cross myself repeatedly. We need to be smart about this—no heroics, no recklessness. Just extract Merrin, grab the sword if possible, and get out before something decides we're a more permanent addition to its collection. The tower groans around us, timbers creaking under centuries of neglect and something else... older, hungrier. I glance up at Varrika, still holding fast above, then back down to Merrin's dim form below. This is madness. But sometimes madness is the only choice when facing the truly monstrous. I'll keep this symbol raised and watch for any sign of corruption or malevolent influence. Someone needs to maintain their wits if we're to escape this place with our souls intact. And gods help us all if Merrin gets us trapped down there—I swear I'll smack her upside the head myself if she tries anything foolish. But for now, we wait. And pray. Because in a place like this, prayer is the only thing keeping the darkness at bay... or so I desperately hope.

Varrika braces herself against the straining rope and creaking beam, her muscles burning with effort. "Halie! Pull them up, NOW!" she shouts over the ominous groans of the ancient tower. The air grows colder by degrees, thick with an ancient malevolence that chills her to the bone. She can just make out Merrin's figure far below, fiddling with the runes on the chamber floor. "Merrin! Don't touch those - get back up here before this rope snaps!" Varrika's voice echoes through the cavernous space. The heavy mace in Halie's hands glints faintly as she inches closer to the pit's edge. Jeane keeps watch, crossbow at the ready, her eyes scanning for any sign of danger. This place feels like a nexus point, a doorway to somewhere worse than death itself. Varrika's gaze darts from Merrin to the rope to the precarious beam above. Every second feels like an eternity as they teeter on the edge of discovery and disaster. The tower trembles around them, its timbers creaking under centuries of neglect and something else... older, hungrier. She grits her teeth, her grip tightening on the rope. "Come on, Merrin," she growls under her breath. "Don't make me regret bringing you along." The dwarf warrior braces for what comes next, ready to act or react in an instant.

I quickly scramble back from the edge of the pit as noxious gas begins to billow up. My heart hammers in my chest as I shout up to the others. "Get me out of here, now!" The ancient rune on the floor pulses ominously, its dark energy making my skin crawl. I grab the rope and start hauling myself up hand over hand, my arms burning with the effort. "Don't let go!" I call out, bracing for the moment when the rotted fibers give way and I plummet into that swirling vortex of malevolence below. As I near the top, Varrika's strong hands grab my waist and half-drag, half-pull me up over the lip of the pit. I roll away, gasping for breath that seems tainted by the foul miasma rising from the depths. "That was too close," I mutter, wiping sweat from my brow with a shaky hand. I look around at the worried faces of the others, seeing my own fear reflected back at me. Halie's holy symbol is glowing faintly, pulsing in time to the dark runes far below. Jeane's eyes are wide as she peers into the pit, her crossbow clutched white-knuckle tight. "This place is bad news," I say, my voice hushed and urgent. "Whatever that sword is, it's not worth risking our lives for." I push to my feet, wincing as protesting muscles remind me of our harrowing climb through the crumbling tower. I look to Halie, the most level-headed among us. "We need a new plan. And it needs to involve getting the hell out of here before whatever is in that pit decides to come calling." I gesture at the roiling darkness below, trying not to imagine what nightmares might be stirring in its depths. My eyes flick to the hidden door, still ajar from our earlier exploration. "Maybe there's another way? A secret passage, a backdoor?" I step toward it, curiosity and caution warring within me. "Or do we face this head-on and hope our combined skills can overcome whatever's waiting for us down there?"

I look to the others, my expression a cocktail of apprehension and determination. Whatever we decide, we're all in this together. And gods help us if we're wrong.